


Only Just A Dream?

by MollySHJW



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, johnlock - Fandom
Genre: Johnlock Fluff, Johnlock Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 15:51:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1750148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MollySHJW/pseuds/MollySHJW
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trust me...« Sherlock purred – this time it definitely was a purr – into his ear, so close to John that he could feel the detective's hot breath on his skin and then his long cold fingers which were slowly brushing along John's neck, that faint touch alone sending shocks of electricity throughout his body, his heart pumping so loud that he had the ridiculous fear Sherlock could hear it from how close he was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo hello everybody... First I have to say - this is my first english fanfic, it's not my first language and I'm not used to write smut in english yet either. So, I apologise in advance for any awkwardness, wrong spelling or embarrassing typos or grammar mistakes :D

John:

John awoke to the sound of a violin, an unknown melody. Composing. Sherlock was composing. In the middle of the bloody night!

»Hell, Sherlock!«, he yelled still drugged with sleep, opening his eyes a little to peek at his alarm clock. 2 AM. Great. It took a few moments, but then the music cut off and he heard the door close downstairs.

»Thank you...«, John called into the darkness. He had to admit, though, when it wasn't two in the morning, he loved to hear Sherlock play, to watch how his fingers moved across the strings and the peaceful expression on the man's face when he was sunk into the melody. Actually, John loved everything about Sherlock – not that he would ever admit it.

He sat up in his bed and ran a hand through his hair, god, he really needed to get that man out of his head. He had no right to feel like this. He was straight. He wasn't bloody gay! God, all those people mistaking Sherlock and him for a couple, had messed up his mind. Or so he liked to think. If he was honest, nobody but Sherlock and himself had anything to do with what he felt for his best friend. Still he needed to get rid of it. Maybe John being straight as a ruler was just wishful thinking, but that didn't go for Sherlock 'I'm married to my work' Holmes. He was sure as hell not interested in John for more than friendship.

Tonight, John would start the next attempt. Another date. Another desperate – faded to fail – try to forget about his stupid feelings for him. What was her name again? Oh, right Sarah. Sarah, Sarah, Sarah... Would be better if he'd remember her name, right?

He would spend a few weeks with her, until she – just like any of her predecessors – would dump him because of Sherlock. John had really liked all those girls, but they were all right. Sherlock was always more important than each one of them. No matter what, Sherlock was John's number one. Unfortunately. Unwanted. Life ruining – in fact.

Sighing, John flopped back onto the soft covers of his bed and closed his eyes. Mentally repeating his date's name like a mantra. Sarah. She wasn't so sexy after all if he thought about it. Granted, she was pretty, but her mind? She was a strong women, clever, but not really – he sighed again – not as brilliant as Sherlock Holmes.

Maybe that was the problem? Maybe John just needed to look for a female genius? Did Sherlock have a sister? Truth to be told, he didn't know. It had never been a topic before. Did he? Perhaps he would ask some time. Let it flow into some of their conversations. But that didn't make any difference. It didn't change that the thought of Sherlock's – very male – body sent shivers down his spine. It wouldn't change that he now and then dreamed about doing things with him, he'd never thought he'd ever want to do with a man.

He heard the common squeak the door to his room made when it was opened and then his room was flooded in much too bright light, coming from the tread.

»John...« he heard the deep familiar rumble, but there was something different about that voice. It was almost … a purr?

»Sherlock?!« Blinking against the light and covering his eyes, John rolled on his side to look into the direction that familiar voice came from. »What for heaven's sake are you doing in here?«

Instead of an answer, Sherlock walked into the room, closing the door behind him, blocking out the light from the landing.

»Sherlock?« John repeated and frowned, what the hell was he up to this time? He tried to make him out in the pitch-black room, but failed poorly. He only got an idea where where he was when John felt movement on the mattress.

»Trust me...« Sherlock purred – this time it definitely was a purr – into his ear, so close to John that he could feel the detective's hot breath on his skin and then his long cold fingers which were slowly brushing along John's neck, that faint touch alone sending shocks of electricity throughout his body, his heart pumping so loud that he had the ridiculous fear Sherlock could hear it from how close he was.

For a moment, John was grateful for the darkness, allowing him to hide the way his face flushed deep red, which was good. Hell, he just hoped the blood would continue shooting up his face. It would be embarrassing if it would flow into the opposite direction.

He froze as he felt Sherlock wrapping his arms around his middle, the sound of the man's purr still in his ears and shivers running down his spine. What was Sherlock doing? His heart was in his mouth and it took his whole strength to keep his lower half calm.

»Sh... Sherlock... what the f...« he began weakly, but Sherlock silenced him by capturing John's lips with his own. His eyes widened for a second, yet then they fluttered shut and he melted into the other man's arms. Instinctively, he rolled onto his side and snaked his arms around Sherlock's neck, pulling him even closer and burying his hands into his glorious ebony curls, tugging softly as he rolled them fully around, placing himself on top of Sherlock, being used to take the dominant part when it came to actions like this. He didn't know what was going on here, but he definitely liked it. He liked it a lot.

Johns breath stuck in his throat as Sherlock rolled them over in his turn, moving himself on top of John and straddling his thighs.

»Sh... Sherlock... what...« the doctor breathed in confusion, his voice trembling slightly as he felt Sherlock's hips against his own. Then there were soft cupid bow lips kissing his neck, teasing it with tongue and teeth, the pleasure emphasised by soft locks lightly tickling his jaw as those perfect plum lips moved over his skin.

John moaned lightly, flushing even deeper than before as he felt his erection grow against Sherlock's thigh. Biting his lip, he shifted a bit, trying to cover it up, before he felt Sherlock's arousal hard against his stomach as the man readjusted to John's struggling, obviously not intending to let go and dear god, John didn't want him to stop.

»Just trust me, John...«

»Okay...« he whispered and despite the fact that it was dark anyways, John closed his eyes, giving Sherlock full control.

Sherlock lowered his kisses down John's neck while his slender fingers teasingly slowly unbuttoned John's pyjama jacket, eventually reaching his waistband and pulling down John's pants.

The darkness began to spin around John and the room heated up in a matter of seconds when Sherlock moved his mouth down John's loin, stroking him softly with his tongue, little movements which could only be described as tasting, before he started to suck gently.

One of John's hand wandered into the man's hair, tugging lightly, the other grabbing the sheets, clinging on them as if his life depended on it. When he heard – and (oh sweet Jesus...) felt – Sherlock moan against his skin, his mind went blank. It was practically the sweetest sound John's ears ever had the pleasure of hearing.

John had often imagined Sherlock seducing him. In many, many ways. But he never believed it would feel that good let alone that it would ever happen. It was all so surreal. So amazingly perfect. So intense and passionate. It was better than anything John had ever done with a woman and at this point he was perfectly positive he would make a call in the morning, cancelling his date with – what was her name again?

Feeling the pressure rise, John put both hands on either side of Sherlock's face, pulling him softly up again, capturing the man's lips in a heated, still sweet kiss and rolling them over as the alpha male got the better of him. Sitting on top of the taller man, John almost ripped off Sherlock's shirt and trousers, tossing them aside and petting the man's chest with his lips while he moved his hand down between their exposed bodies and began to massage him, firm but still tender and soft, doing – due a lack of experience with men – what he knew he liked to have done to himself. He whole heartedly savoured Sherlock's moans, wanting to memorise those pleasured sounds. Sounds he knew he elicited.

After a few moments, John let the massage fade out and turned Sherlock around so the detective was backing him. He felt the strong urge to feel him closer, to be inside of him, so John got on his knees, pulling Sherlock up with him and hesitating a moment. He as a doctor had had to care about men who did precisely this the wrong way.

Preparation. He didn't want to hurt Sherlock like said men had been hurt by careless lovers and rape. He wanted to make Sherlock feel pleasure.

Preparation. Okay. Right. For a moment, he sat knelt behind Sherlock, tempted to switch on the light to see what he was doing. To make sure he didn't do anything wrong, ignoring that he had no idea what he was doing anyways. He knew the human anatomy though, thank god he did.

Spitting onto his fingers eventually, John slowly slipped his hand between Sherlock's well formed cheeks, using the mixture of saliva and precum as some sort of substitution for lubricant as he experimentally stroked his fingertips over Sherlock's entrance, hearing the man beneath him gasp fondly, which strengthened his courage. Taking a deep breath, John swallowed and circled the ring of muscles a few times, before pushing one finger in, letting the tight muscle adjust to the intrusion and luxuriating in Sherlock's sounds once again.

After a few moments of thrusting and withdrawing with one finger, John added a second, repeating his actions from before – adjusting and thrusting – before he gently scissored his fingers, feeling Sherlock loosen up perceptibly. Just to make sure, he was opened up enough, John added another finger after a moment, figuring Sherlock was ready when three fingers slipped in and out almost without resistance, still he went on, slowly sliding in and out with his fingers.

»Christ John...« he suddenly heard Sherlock's voice coming out of the dark. »Would you just... I'm not going to break...« John couldn't help but letting out a soft hummed chuckle at Sherlock's impatience, this time it was his turn not to answer though.

He spit into his hand again then, gripping his throbbing erection and slicked it with the same mixture of fluid, before he lined up with Sherlock, his heart thumping against his ribcage as if it wanted to break through it as the tip of his arousal pressed against Sherlock's entrance.

 

Carefully entering him from behind, he slung one arm around the lean man's waist, slowly beginning to work his length gently in and out of Sherlock, resting his head against his back and groaning along with the other man as, quickly building up a fast pace, while he stroked Sherlock in the rhythm of his thrusts. He gripped Sherlock's shoulder with his other hand for support, slightly scratching the soft skin as he felt a sensation arising from his loin and spreading across his whole body. He softly kissed Sherlock's neck, his heart almost burning through his chest with love for the man in front of him.


	2. Chapter 2

When John awoke in the morning, he had expected to still feel Sherlock's arms comforting around him, just like they had been when they fell asleep that night – but they weren't. Can't have everything, huh? He'd been lucky enough with what happened. Though it was still hard to believe it really _had_ happened at all. Especially since it had been dark in the room all the while and they had been thoroughly exhausted after all this 'activity' therefore they didn't really get to talk about what happened before they fell asleep.

 

John opened his eyes, only to find no one next to him. He was alone in his room – and dressed, well admittedly all he was wearing were boxers, but... had he taken on his pyjama before he went to bed? He couldn't remember. That was when it hit him like a brick. It was just a dream.

 

_All of this had only been a dream._

 

He could have cried. Of course it hadn't been real. How could he have ever believed, it was? Like there was anything realistic about Sherlock Holmes sneaking into his bedroom and seducing him that way. God, he felt so stupid. It was embarrassing, really. Giving a silent, frustraded sigh, he stood up and slipped into his morning gown before making his way down the stairs and into the living, where Sherlock was lying on the sofa, eyes closed. John's heart skipped a beat, seeing him – it was almost like he could still feel the man's hands all over his body. His full lips still around his … no stop! It wasn't a good idea to think about that. Not now. Not ever.

 

»Morning...« John muttered then, averting his eyes after a slightly too long moment of staring at the other and trying to let his voice sound normal. »Coffee?« he asked and sighed silently, barely audible. God, how he wished it had been reality. But it was not and he had to deal with it.

 

_It was only just a dream._


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock:

The detectives eyes fluttered open and he smiled lightly at the sight of John, wandering through the room, still half asleep.

Sherlock sat up and watched John walking into the kitchen. »Bla..«

»Black, two sugars.« the blonde interrupted him and finished his sentence. »I know, Sherlock.«

Sherlock grinned and laid back down onto the sofa as the memories of the last night rushed through his mind once more – he'd barely been able to think of anything else since he awoke with John in his arms. He still couldn't believe what happened. He didn't regret it, not in the slightest. He had wanted to do that since he realised, how much John meant to him. That he was – in love – with him.

He had no idea, why he chose that night in particular, but he was glad he had done it. It was a bold move, he had to admit, but even in the dark Sherlock was able to deduce John. The increased heart rate he had felt on John's neck when he had touched it in the beginning, the sound of his voice - every reaction had made Sherlock more confident, though he hadn't even planned to go this far. But it was the most intense experience Sherlock had ever made and he wouldn't want to miss it, not even for the most complex and trickiest murder that could possibly happen.

When John returned from the kitchen with two cups of coffee, Sherlock expected – something. Anything. A change in the man's behaviour or seeing as sentimental as John was, at least that he sat down next to him – a touch. A kiss. But nothing. John set Sherlock's cup on the little table in front of him and simply walked back into the kitchen. Not even a word? Sherlock frowned, the wheels in his head turning. Did John regret it? Was he ashamed? What was wrong?

Sherlock had been sure, John felt something for him. He just wasn't the type of person who'd risk an intact friendship for sex. Especially not with a man. 'I'm not actually gay', Sherlock echoed the doctor's words in his mind. No, he surely didn't do it just for fun. There had to be something deeper, or not? Could Sherlock have been ... wrong? He? The genius detective ... wrong? No, he had watched John's body language for a while now – light blush when someone implied they were together, dilated pupils, slightly increased pulse. Sherlock had been sure John felt more than friendship. But he didn't understand why he acted this way then. Sherlock was pulled from his thoughts when he heard the doctor call from the kitchen.

»You remember I'm out tonight, right? My date with Sarah...«

Sherlock wasn't exactly sure, but his heart seemed to have stopped for a second at John's words. He still wanted to go on that date? After all? Sherlock bit his lip, at the unpleasant and unknown feel inside in chest. It hurt. Not physically – not really, but almost.

»I had actually hoped ... we'd... go for dinner...« Sherlock replied, his voice a bit shaky and weak. He frowned, was that what it was like to be - heart broken? Well, whatever it was, Sherlock hated to feel like this. And he hated that stupid woman, who'd go out with the blonde tonight. He was jealous. He had been before, slightly. But this was worse.


	4. Chapter 4

John:

 

"Dinner?" The doctor asked and frowned at his cup, "I don't recall you mentioning that before." he continued and sighed, dinner would be a terrible idea tonight. Not that he wouldn't like to spend time with Sherlock, but he really needed a bit of distance after the dream last night. It was still so real in his mind. It didn't feel like a dream. It didn't fade slowly like they usually did. It was all still bright and colourful in his head.

 

_Unfortunately._

 

"I did. Not my fault if you aren't listening." Sherlock replied from the sitting room and John rolled his eyes, "I thought we had talked about the talking to me when I'm not there thing, Sherlock!" John grumbled, huffing and placing his cup on the counter, running his hands over his face.

 

_This was so typically Sherlock, really._

 

"Are we going?" the detective asked, obviously not minding that John had other plans at all.

 

"Sherlock, I told you I have a bloody date!" John said and reached for his cup again, drinking slow and steady gulps. It was really not Sherlock's fault that John was on the edge today. It was his own stupid head that was messing with him.

  
"Are we?" Sherlock asked once more.

 

"Yes! Fine! I call her off!" John called and sighed, shaking his head about himself.

_This was so typically John, really._

 

"Thank you." he heard the deep familiar rumble from the living room.

 

If someone would have asked, John wouldn't be able to explain why he had _again_ agreed to call a date off only because the great detective said so. But Sherlock was like a drug. He was hooked and there was no way to get out of it. Why was he even still trying? Wasn't it slow but steady time to just settle with it? To simply commit himself to Sherlock and stop dating, even if he knew they'd never be a couple? After all John was sure that even as friends, Sherlock and him would spend the rest of their lives together.

 

That was actually more than he could have expected from a normal friendship, right? A normal friendship would break someday if one harboured feelings like that, but Sherlock didn't really seem to care about these things. About human errors as he put it. So perhaps, if John could finally give up the hope to be Sherlock's human error someday, they could have a happy life together.

 

_Maybe._

 

Then again, what if there would someday be someone who would convince the detective otherwise? Was there someone out there Sherlock could actually fall in love with? John felt bad for thinking it, but if there was John hoped Sherlock and him (or her – who knew with Sherlock Holmes?) would never meet each other. He knew he couldn't bear to see Sherlock with anyone else.

 

Putting his half full cup into the sink, John turned to go to the bathroom, "I'm taking a shower." he called and closed the door behind him, stripping off his robe and boxers, before stepping into the shower.

 

 


End file.
